The Last Cut is the Deepest
by izziehuett
Summary: After learning she is divergent, Hermione Granger uses a time-turner to explore all the factions before making her ultimate choice - a choice that proves more difficult than she ever imagined. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1: Divergent

Notes: Might contradict 'Divergent trilogy' canon in a few places; I'm not as familiar with Roth's world as Rowling's. No 'Divergent' characters appear here. From the Potterverse, it's mostly Hermione, but there are appearances by Remus Lupin and several Weasley brothers.

Bonus: Answers the burning question, 'Which faction has the best food?'

 **Chapter One: Divergent**

Hermione Granger was never so grateful that Remus Lupin liked her than the day she discovered she was divergent. That was the day of the Aptitude Test, and luckily for Hermione, Lupin was one of the people who administered it.

Lupin hadn't always been sidelined to such a safe, dull job. The last of the surviving Marauders, he'd spent his youth on the front lines, defending the City against the Death Eaters that remained on this side of the wall (mostly, people said, hiding within Erudite). After his injury, he'd been relegated to aptitude testing and working on the fear simulations. He still wore Dauntless black, of course, which Hermione thought set off the premature greys in his hair nicely. She wasn't the only girl in Dauntless to think that.

He was also famously calm and easygoing, and Hermione was very grateful for that when he broke the news that she was divergent. Anyone else would probably have looked unsettled by the discovery, and that, in turn, would have scared Hermione.

Striving for calm, Hermione asked, "What was the majority result, though? Was it Erudite?" That was what everybody said about her, that she belonged in the faction of the intelligent. "Or was it mostly Dauntless?"

"Your results are pretty much a scatter pattern," Lupin said, thoughtfully, as though mentally he was still reviewing Hermione's results, like a doctor looking at an MRI film.

"What should I do?" she asked. Then: "I'll just choose Dauntless."

Ron and Harry were both already committed to their birth faction, and they were anxious – Ron more than Harry – to nail Hermione down, too. "So what if you've got a great brain?" Ron had demanded. "Dauntless needs strategists, you know."

Lupin, though, looked unpersuaded. "Why Dauntless? Your results mean you'll fit in anywhere."

"You're thinking of Erudite."

"Well, there's no denying you've got a fine mind."

"But Hagrid told us—" the words tumbled from her, spurred by nerves, "- Hagrid said that no witch or wizard went bad but they were from Erudite."

 _"_ _Hermione."_ A wrinkle of annoyance appeared above Lupin's brow. "You're the cleverest witch of any faction that I've met. You, of all people, shouldn't just take the things people say at face value." He settled his hips against the cabinet where the serums were stored, resting his cane against it as well. "Erudite _will_ be doomed if all the righteous and good initiates abandon it out of fear of its reputation."

"Then maybe it _is_ where I belong," Hermione said, slowly. "I just wish the aptitude test had given me a little more direction than a 'scatter pattern.'"

The wrinkle eased out of Lupin's brow. "I think I might have something that could help you. Something I wish I'd had, when I was in your position."

Leaning slightly against his cane, Lupin walked out of the room, leaving her staring after him. _I was in your position._ Hermione felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. His shabby clothes and refusal to cover his greys: pure Abnegation. His courage, when he fought alongside James Potter and Sirius Black: Dauntless. His sharp mind: Erudite. The kindness that all of young Dauntless loved him for –

"Here." Lupin re-entered, interrupting her thoughts. He held out something that looked like a stopwatch. Hermione said, "Is that a –"

"Time-turner," Lupin confirmed. "Be careful not to be seen when you use it. We could both get in a lot of trouble for messing around with the Choosing Ceremony." He set the watch in Hermione's hand.

Hermione said, slowly, "You want me to test-drive all the factions? Coming back each time and picking a new one?"

"Exactly."

"How long should I stay?"

"As long as you need to get a feel for each faction. But I'd suggest a short time. There can be time-travel sickness and mental confusion if you travel for long periods." Lupin glanced toward the door. His next aptitude-test appointment was almost certainly waiting outside. "Pick a specific moment to return to each time, otherwise there'll be overlap."

"Two of me?"

"Yes. And that'd be trouble for both of us. I'm pretty sure fooling around with the faction-selection process is a criminal offense."

"I'll be careful," she assured him. She was nervous about the little time machine, but she was secretly thrilled, too. As someone knocked impatiently at the door, Hermione sprang onto tiptoe to kiss Lupin's cheek. She didn't look back before leaving, but was fairly sure that Dauntless black set off a blush nicely, too.

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have found it comforting to be sandwiched between Ron and Harry. On this day, the Choosing Ceremony, it felt nerve-wracking. Ron was certain his girlfriend was going to stay in Dauntless with him. That was Ron: simple in the best possible way. He felt sure that Hermione would stay in Dauntless, and they'd be married, then Harry would marry Ginny – who of course would also pledge Dauntless – and the Weasleys would be one big family.

What Harry was thinking, Hermione was less certain. If he sensed that she was thinking of transferring, he wasn't the type to press her to tell him. It was an unspoken rule of the Choosing Ceremony that in the days and weeks leading up to it, initiates weren't supposed to be pressured: not by their faction, their family, or even their friends.

It was a rule that got broken a lot.

Ron, Hermione thought, shouldn't have been so sure about her decision. This ceremony had delivered shocks to him before. To all the Weasleys.

It shouldn't have surprised anyone that Percy had chosen Erudite. He was undeniably smart. But the Weasleys, a family with a long history in Dauntless, had wondered if they'd failed him. He'd always been the fragile, brainy one in a group of brawling, teasing brothers. Had they made him feel unwelcome, his brothers had asked themselves. Did he transfer to get away from them?

The bigger surprise, though, was Fred and George transferring to Candor. The twins were famous for their pranks, and how can you trick anyone if you can't deceive them? Besides, they'd always fit into Dauntless. They'd been adored there. The news that they'd transferred had run through Dauntless like fire following a trail of spilled gasoline.

After a while, though, it had made sense. Factions weren't just about being with people who were like you. Faction selection also opened certain career options. It closed off others. Dauntless were police and soldiers and emergency personnel. Abnegation ran the government. Candor was known for managing the court system, but that wasn't all. Writers and artists, playwrights and poets were in Candor, because they told truths through their work. Sometimes hard ones.

About a year after their transfer, Fred and George Weasley started making a name for themselves as the city's most popular comics. They made fun of the city government, the faction system, Stiffs, Noses … everyone. At that point, their secession to Candor made sense.

Discreetly, Hermione looked sidewise at Ron. If he was nervous, it didn't show on his face.

 _"_ _Matthew Givens,"_ the disembodied voice announced.

The black-clad boy rose and descended the center aisle. Hermione knew she'd be up soon afterward. Discreetly, she set the time-turner to return her to this moment. It'd give her a few minutes to reflect on the experience she'd just had before she had to walk up to the stage and do it again.

She had four time-trips ahead of her. Dauntless she didn't need to test-drive; she knew what the initiation was like. But with Erudite, Abnegation, Candor and Amity, Hermione had decided that she'd go through the early steps of their initiation rites and get a feel for what the people were like.

 _"_ _Hermione Granger."_

Ron squeezed her hand, and Harry nodded gravely. Hermione rose from her seat, and went down the aisle with their faces still in her mind. She didn't like to think of the shock they'd feel, even if she was certain to erase what she was about to do.

She reached the platform, took the knife, and stared down at the five bowls: dirt, glass, water, stones, and burning coals. Hermione slashed her palm and extended her arm over the bowl of stones.

"Abnegation!"

Hermione heard a gasps from Dauntless. Plenty of people had expected Hermione Granger to transfer out, but no one had expected _this_ decision. She also heard muted clapping, the polite salutation of Abnegation, the least demonstrative of the five factions. Hermione turned and walked to her new chosen family, not looking up to where Ron and Harry sat, unwilling to torment herself with an image she knew she would probably erase. She'd chosen Abnegation first because it was the faction that least attracted her. Still, it offered interesting work, running the government. She wouldn't rule it out. Just maybe ...


	2. Chapter 2: Abnegation

**Chapter Two: Abnegation**

"Your initiation will be practical and functional," said the gray-clad man who'd introduced himself as Henry. "You'll be doing some of the most difficult but important work that our people do. You'll distribute food to the factionless."

A group of about 20 initiates sat in a circle in front of Henry, listening silently. Henry continued, "You won't have to do this alone. Each of you will have a partner to work with. During this time, you'll be carefully observed for how well you fulfill the needs of the unfortunates, and how well you respond to the hostility we often face from them." Henry paused. "At the end, you'll be judged on your performance. There will be consequences for an inadequate effort."

"What kind of consequences?" an initiate demanded. _Candor_ , Hermione thought.

"That will be revealed at the end of the test," Henry said. "Please stand; I'll assign each of you a partner now."

 _Hostility_ , Hermione thought. _I'm from Dauntless. A little verbal abuse isn't going to rattle me._

"Screw you, Stiff!" A wet, limp lettuce leaf hit the side of Hermione's face and, disturbingly, adhered there. Suppressing a wince – Abnegation was watching them, probably through a system of hidden cameras – Hermione peeled it off and dropped it to the pavement.

Her partner was a dark-haired, sharp-faced boy from Candor, who'd introduced himself as Brian. They'd ridden here together on the train, with heavy rucksacks of food on their backs, which they were now trying to distribute. Hermione had felt a little bit of concern when she'd learned her partner was ex-Candor. He had to be used to hearing all kinds of blunt truths, rudeness, rejection. How could anything the factionless would dish out possibly bother him? Henry hadn't said they'd be judged against each other, but Hermione knew that whoever was assessing the test would almost have to make side-by-side comparisons.

She wanted to run a hand through her hair, but it was pulled back into the characteristic Abnegation bun. She had also, like all the initiates, been given gray clothes. These were to identify their role to the factionless.

Hermione carefully approached a young woman with hair twisted into dreadlocks, wearing a long coat that had once been Erudite blue. "Would you like a few cans of soup?"

The woman looked at her with uncertain eyes. "Soup? Actually, I feel … I feel kind of –"

Then she bent at the waist and threw up, vomit splashing Hermione's shoes. Quickly, Hermione tightened her facial muscles, repressing an expression of horror, just like she kept herself from stepping back.

"Oh, _man_ ," the factionless woman said. "Your _shoes_."

"Quite all right," Hermione said. "It'll wash out."

From behind her, she heard a voice she recognized as Brian's. _"Hey, I'm only trying to help you! That's uncalled for!"_

Hermione glanced over and saw him almost nose-to-nose with a young guy who was rather heavyset for a factionless. Then Brian calmed down, obviously with an effort. Hermione turned away before he caught her looking.

"I don't suppose you've got any meds, like for stomach flu," the dreadlocked woman asked.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "They just gave me food to hand out."

"Typical. You stiffs are useless," the woman muttered.

Hermione didn't rise to the bait. "Please take a can or two of soup, anyway," she said. "You might want it when you're feeling better."

Hermione and Brian seated themselves on the train back three hours later. "My feet are killing me," he said. "Three hours? That's a long time to be walking around on pavement."

"Shhh," Hermione said, quietly, tilting her head down so a hidden camera couldn't catch the movement of her lips. "You shouldn't let them hear you complaining."

"I'm not complaining."

"It's just not very Abnegation," Hermione pointed out, still softly, "talking about your own problems."

Henry met them in a small private office, unadorned with any personal touches.

"Hermione," he said. "You did well. We were pleased with your work." Then he looked at Brian. "But _your_ behavior was problematic."

"Sir?" Brian said.

"You talked back to factionless who insulted you. Then you complained about minor physical discomfort and the length of time we asked you to spend distributing aid."

Brian's face tightened with chagrin. "Sir, I'm Candor. It might take a while for me to adapt."

Henry's expression didn't soften. "You might think that because this is Abnegation, we're more tolerant of unprepared transfers, that we give the non-Abnegation-born more slack. That is not the case."

"You mean—"

"I am sorry, Brian. You do not belong here in Abnegation. You should have chosen Candor."

"I have to leave?" Brian sounded stunned.

Hermione was, too. This couldn't be happening! How could Abnegation send a young initiate out into the city to be factionless after the failure of just one test? She wondered if Brian's performance was being measured against hers, Had it had been a competition, like the competition for spots in Dauntless?

Then Hermione thought of the time-turner in her pocket. She had the power to jump back to the Choosing Ceremony. She still might. Brian had no such lifeline.

"Sir," she said to Henry, "please, let him in and send me away. Honestly, I – I shouldn't have shown off at his expense."

She'd had to struggle to find some way to make Brian's failure her fault. _Showing_ _off_ seemed plausible; it wasn't a very Abnegation thing to do.

A smile spread across Henry's features. "Congratulations, Hermione," he said. "That was exactly the response we were looking for."

 _What?_

Then she understood. Next to her, Brian was fading away into the air. He wasn't real. He was a sim, part of her test.

"You are true Abnegation," Henry said, standing. "Come, I'll find you some clean shoes, and then you should have something to eat. It's been a long day."

The commissary he led her into was gray-walled, with long tables. Hermione took a tray and went through the line for food. There were no choices; she was simply served. The meal was a piece of white fish, a cup of vegetable soup, and brown bread. Pitchers of water stood on the tables.

 _This is it_? Hermione thought of the heaps of donuts and bagels in the Dauntless cafeteria, the hamburgers and pizza. Disconcerted, she walked slowly to a table of other transfers. Like her, the girls wore gray and had their hair strictly pulled back. They said "Hello," in soft voices.

"Hello," Hermione echoed, sitting down. She poured herself a glass of water, sipped, and then cut into the fish. Cod, maybe? Trout?

Whatever it was, it had very little flavor. Hermione looked around for seasonings, and saw only simple salt and pepper cellars on the table. She glanced back toward the cafeteria window, to the left and right of it, hoping maybe she'd missed a condiments table. She hadn't.

 _That does it. I can spend the rest of my life wearing gray, with my hair in a bun. I can take insults and wash vomit out of my clothes. But I will not spend all my days. Eating. This. Food._

She reached into her pocket and found the time-turner. When she twisted the knob backward, Hermione closed her eyes.

 _reset_

 _"Matthew Givens."_

The voice boomed through the hall, and again the boy began his walk down to the stage. Hermione, back in her seat, glanced quickly around. Nobody seemed to notice anything amiss. She almost sighed aloud in relief. What if the time-turner hadn't worked, and she'd been stuck among the Stiffs all her life? She should have picked a faction for her first trip that she thought she might like, just in case. But never mind; here she was.

She could still taste the fish she'd had in the Abnegation commissary, and feel the sting of the cut on her palm. That meant that she hadn't rebounded physically to a prior version of herself; she would live all these trips in real time. Good to know.

Erudite came next.

She felt a thrill of anticipation. If she belonged anywhere other than Dauntless, it was there. Bad reputation or not.

 _"Hermione Granger."_

She nodded to Ron and Harry and rose from her seat. It was funny to imagine that to them, this was the first time her name had been called.

On the stage, she picked up the ceremonial knife and opened her hand. Carefully, though: she didn't want anyone to see the cut she'd made last time; that would raise questions she couldn't answer. She set the knife slightly to the side of that angry red line, and drew the knife across a second time. As she did, she heard Hagrid's words echo in her mind: _There was never a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't from Erudite._

Hermione let the blood spill.

"Erudite!"

 _Sorry, Hagrid. I've got to find out for myself._


	3. Chapter 3: Erudite

**Chapter Three: Erudite**

Her guide to the Erudite initiation was named Gemma. She looked only a few years older than Hermione, and very composed. She led Hermione through a door into a small room with another door on the other side. It was so plainly furnished it could have been in the Abnegation compound. In the center of the room was a plain table, like you'd see in a conference room, with a small machine on it that looked a bit like an old-fashioned typewriter, but smaller – it had a keypad, and above that a narrow silver screen where the words would appear. In front of the typing machine was a plain 3x5 index card. A single chair waited for the table's occupant.

Gemma closed the door behind them. "This is your first test," she said. She pointed to the door ahead of them. "Behind that door is the rest of Erudite headquarters, and the rest of your life. But it's locked."

Hermione glanced at the door: the rest of her life, indeed. Maybe.

"You have to get through it by solving a puzzle," Gemma continued. "You'll find it when you turn over the card on the table. When you've solved it, enter your answer on the keypad. If you have provided the correct answer, the door will unlock and you may pass through."

That seemed simple enough. Hermione liked problem-solving, and she felt impatient to start, like a runner at the starting blocks.

"There is no time limit. You may think about the problem as long as you like. But you may only answer once. If your answer is incorrect, you must exit through the door you came in through, and you have left Erudite." Gemma cleared her throat. "Permanently."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Just one test?"

"It might seem harsh," Gemma said, "but it's necessary. It's a very human trait to believe oneself smarter than one really is. For that reason, Erudite gets a very high number of transfers who are, frankly, inadequate to the mental challenges of our faction. It's kindest to weed them out early."

 _Kindest to make them factionless after only one test?_

"It's possible to teach someone to be kind, or self-sacrificing, or courageous," Gemma went on. "But we can't make someone smarter."

Hermione's future rested on a riddle. Like _Tom_ Riddle, Lord V himself. Maybe that was appropriate for Erudite. Maybe what people said about them was true.

"Any questions?" Gemma smiled crisply. "Good luck."

When Gemma had gone, Hermione sat down, turned the card over and read the short paragraph printed there.

 **A bus is travelling through Aberystwyth. It is driven by a man; all the passenger seats are full. The population of Aberystwyth is 70 percent native Welsh, 15 percent Scottish, 5 percent English, and 10 percent Albanian immigrants, who tend to fill a good number of the working-class labor jobs. The distribution of nationalities on the bus reflect that of the population in general, and the occupants of the bus are divided 50/50 between men and women.**

 **What nationality is the bus driver?**

 _What the -?_

Hermione's immediate thought was that not enough information was provided to answer the question. But her second thought was that this was Erudite; of course they were going to provide a tricky riddle for the initiation test, one that looked unsolvable at first. There had to be a twist in there somewhere, something that answered the question.

Hermione went over the problem line by line. The percentages did add up to one hundred, for what that was worth. The bus driver was a man, but that didn't seem to mean anything, and neither did the fact that the bus was 50 percent men, 50 percent women. Hermione discarded those pieces of information as a distraction.

She studied the breakdown of nationalities. The bus's passengers reflected the city's population in general – meaning that if Hermione played the numbers, there was a 70 percent chance the driver was Welsh. Except there _wasn't_ , not if native Welsh didn't fill proportionate numbers of labor jobs.

And so what if the Albanian population filled a lot of working-class jobs? Unless they filled them all, that didn't tell her the bus driver's nationality. What was 'a good number', anyway? That phrase was disturbingly imprecise for a faction who prided themselves on preciseness.

From behind the door ahead, the locked door, Hermione heard a faint surf of human noise, the noise of conversation and laughter. Was that their cafeteria in there? Her stomach clenched in hunger. She hadn't really eaten anything in the Abnegation commissary, meaning she hadn't eaten since breakfast. That was nearly six hours ago, given the time she'd spent testing out Abnegation. The hours added up – as she'd realized back in the Hub, Hermione wasn't 're-setting' to a previous version of herself; her body was living all her experiences in real time.

She wished she'd choked down some Abnegation food. Hunger was a distraction she couldn't afford.

Hermione re-read the puzzle from the beginning. She saw the point in only giving initiates one chance to answer. If they were allowed to answer as many times as they liked, initiates would just try Welsh, Albanian, Scottish, and English in order. Easy.

But she could only give one answer. She had one chance.

Hermione applied Occam's Razor: the simplest answer is always the best. She saw only one possible correct response to this riddle.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and typed.

 **Not enough information is provided to answer the question** **.**

She waited, but heard no sound to indicate that a bolt had been thrown back. Nothing changed.

 _Damn it._

How could she have blown Erudite's test? Everyone said it was her truest home. Even Ron thought that, deep down, or he wouldn't be so afraid of her defection.

This must be how these jerks got rid of undesirables – stuck them in a room with an unsolvable brain teaser. Probably the people Erudite wanted got a problem with an actual solution.

 _How did they decide I wasn't smart enough to cut it? They don't even know me! Damn, a one-chance-only test isn't fair?_

That made her think of her supposed one-chance-only test in Abnegation, with "Brian" the sim. The point of that challenge hadn't really been dealing with the abuse of the factionless; it had been how she responded to Brian's supposed dismissal.

Check the underlying assumptions. Check everything.

Hermione craned her neck to look more closely at the narrow space between the door and its frame. She saw no glint of bronze that indicated a bolt.

She got up, strode to the door, and twisted the knob. The door opened immediately. It had never been locked at all.

"Congratulations," Gemma said. She had been waiting.

Hermione's irritation melted away into the pleasure that problem-solving always gave her. "The puzzle wasn't the point," she said. "You wanted me to test the underlying parameters."

"Exactly," Gemma confirmed. "That's the first lesson initiates need to learn about being Erudite: question the base assumptions. Don't assume the door is locked because someone told you it was locked. Question everything." She assessed Hermione with pleasure. "Your time was quite good. Not a best-ever, but still."

Gemma had no sooner taken her to the cafeteria when a voice full of surprise called her name. _"Hermione?"_

She turned and saw Percy coming her way, pleasure blooming on his thin, bespectacled face. "I should have guessed! Why, this is great!" She bumped against his thin shoulder as he caught her in an uncharacteristic hug.

Hermione had always gotten along with Percy better than Ron or Harry did. It was natural, given that she knew what it was like to be called a prig, or accused of having a computer where her heart should be. At the same time, she wasn't sure being in close quarters with him was the best idea. As she'd grown up, and the gap between their ages had felt less wide and imposing, she'd gotten the sense that with a little encouragement, he might take a romantic interest in her. But it hadn't been anything she'd had to worry about for some time: he'd transferred to Erudite, and Ron then became her boyfriend.

Here, those barriers didn't exist.

She scrambled to find something friendly-but-not-too-friendly to say. "It's good to see you too," she told him. "How's the food here? I'm starved."

He grinned. "You wouldn't believe. Have you heard of molecular gastronomy?"

"Vaguely."

"Our cooks use scientific techniques that make the kitchen staff in other factions look like they're still trying to invent fire," Percy said, proudly. "You'll love it."

Gemma seemed to have stepped away to allow privacy for their reunion, so Hermione let Percy accompany her through the cafeteria line, providing an almost unceasing flow of recommendations.

"Everything's vegetarian," she noted, intrigued. She'd have expected that in Amity, but not here.

"Plant-based food makes more sense," Percy said. "Cost-effective, saves on labor and resources, and it's healthy. Our chefs make fantastic high-protein meat substitutes, too."

There'd be a riot in Dauntless, Hermione thought, no matter how good the meat substitutes were.

Realizing that she had two more meals ahead of her – in Candor and Amity - Hermione didn't take as much as she'd have liked. She served herself a bowl of ginger carrot bisque, an iceberg lettuce wedge with blue-cheese dressing, and a piece of chocolate cake.

Percy, of course, wanted the news from Dauntless. "How are Ron and Harry?"

"Pretty good," Hermione said. "Both committed to Dauntless for life, of course, and – Oh my God!"

The carrot-ginger soup, which Hermione had thought of as a fairly simple menu offering, exploded on her tongue with flavors she'd never imagined: exotic spices in perfect balance. The texture was like silk, it almost seemed to hover just above her tongue.

"What did I tell you?" Percy said, beaming. "The best food anywhere. It's our biggest secret."

It certainly was. Hermione tried to be good company during the meal, but she only really wanted to concentrate on what she was eating. Even iceberg lettuce tasted great here. And when she got to the chocolate cake – _That's it, I don't care if I have to turn as evil as Lord V himself; food like this is worth it._

"Here comes Gemma," Percy noted, taking off his glasses and polishing them, a sign of mild nerves. Did he have a crush? That would be nice, if Hermione ultimately chose Erudite – Gemma drawing off Percy's romantic attentions.

Gemma sat down, surveying the light meal in front of Hermione. "That's not a lot of food," she observed. "I thought Dauntless people ate like horses."

"I'm not Dauntless anymore, though."

"True," Gemma said, "but the central nervous system, meaning mostly the brain, consumes a great deal of the body's glucose. Not a lot of people know that."

"I did," Percy said.

Gemma gave Hermione a look of amusement at Percy's showing off. Hermione, in that moment, began to like her.

 _I'd probably like a lot of people here,_ Hermione thought. She would fit in here; more than that, thrive.

And for that reason, she didn't need to spend any more time in Erudite. Hermione reached in her pocket. Percy had just opened his mouth to add something else, when she closed her eyes and -

 _reset_

 _"Matthew Givens."_

Coming back was easier the second time, now that she knew no one was going to point and stare. Hermione took a settling breath: two factions down. Candor came next.

Hermione was tempted to skip this one, because of its fearsome initiation. Candor administered a truth serum, and then every last secret was dug out, like a tumor being excised. Except, unlike in a surgery, the patient was awake and aware.

Hermione shifted in her seat. Ron glanced over, but seemed to take Hermione's restlessness as typical choosing-day nerves. He took her hand and wrapped his fingers through hers.

 _"Hermione Granger."_

She freed her hand from Ron's and stood.

There was a reason to go through with this initiation: like Abnegation, Candor opened up interesting possibilities for a job. Candor ran the courts, and if she went there, she could be a prosecutor, eventually a judge. Those were roles she could easily see herself in.

Hermione took the ceremonial knife and made the third cut.

"Candor!"


	4. Chapter 4: Candor

**Chapter Four: Candor**

Candor's chambers were dark and severe, like a smaller and more dimly-lit version of the hall the Choosing Ceremony was held in. There was a platform in the center for the initiate, and a lectern across from that, where the questioner would stand. Hermione's was Robert, a tall black man with a severely pointed chin and luminous, piercing eyes. Hermione wondered if, under his gaze, she would even need the truth serum.

Nonetheless, she endured the pinch at her neck. As they waited for the serum to take effect, her fellow initiates filed in, dressed in black and white. Robert had explained that it was important for Hermione to reveal her secrets to those who mattered most, which were the people she'd be studying, working and living with. "There are a few select others, as well," Robert said. Then: "I think you're ready, now."

Hermione walked unwillingly to the platform. _Remember, you can erase it all,_ she thought.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," Robert said, pitching his voice somewhat louder, to include the assembled in their conversation. "Since you are Dauntless-born, you might not know how this works. We proceed chronologically, starting with your early life, in several sessions. For most initiates, it takes three sessions. But if you have many secrets, or if you resist telling the truth, the process can take longer." He paused. "I'd recommend you not resist. It's painful, and only prolongs the inevitable."

Hermione nodded.

"Are you apprehensive about being questioned?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"The serum must be working. If you said you weren't nervous, we'd know you needed a second dose."

His questions weren't particularly hard at first. Hermione admitted to wetting her pants on the first day of school, and to stealing chocolate from the lunchbox of a girl she didn't like. When she hesitated to speak, there was an odd feeling of discomfort in her body – not pain exactly, but her muscles stiffened and her stomach roiled, almost like the precursor to throwing up. As if the truth were coming up like toxic food her body had to rid itself of.

Not as embarrassing, but more difficult emotionally, were questions about her family. Did she really love her parents equally? How often did she lie to her parents, and about what? Hermione admitted she probably loved her mother a little more than her father, and to telling them white lies – mostly about things that happened in school, whether she'd been in trouble.

"Harry and Ron led me into a lot of trouble I wouldn't have gotten into by myself," she admitted. "Things I probably wouldn't have been doing if I were spending time with Lavender Brown or the Patil twins." Then she added, "The thing that happened in my second year at Hogwarts, though, -"

 _No! Don't bring_ that _up!_

"— that was all me," she finished. Privately, she marveled at the effectiveness of the truth serum: she couldn't seem to keep her mouth shut even when she knew it was wisest.

"What thing in your second year?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"That's the entire point of this exercise, Hermione," Robert said. "To talk about those things." He tapped a finger against the lectern. "What happened?"

"Ron's younger sister, Ginny, came to school as a first-year," Hermione began. "She followed us around, and she had this obvious crush on Harry."

"Why did that bother you?"

"That year, I had a little bit of a thing for Harry. It didn't last; Ron eventually became my boyfriend. Ginny and Harry actually got together, too. In time."

Robert cleared his throat. He knew she was stalling.

Hermione said, "I did something to get Ginny in trouble." She paused. "I found this book – a diary. It was animate, I mean, had its own brain powering it. We were supposed to turn anything like that in to the teachers."

"But you didn't?"

"I left it where Ginny could find it," Hermione said. "She did, too, and started reading it, and writing in it. I – I just wanted someone to find out, and for Ginny to get in trouble."

"Did she?"

"Not right away," Hermione said. "And the diary wasn't animated by just anyone. It was –"

This was the hard part. She stopped, and in response, the serum's effects kicked into high gear. Her muscles seized up, and there were shooting pains up her spinal column. She twisted her shoulders, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Let it out, Hermione," Robert said.

"It was animated by Lord Voldemort!" Low gasps and rustling came from the crowd, but the pain eased. "Back when he was a student named Tom Riddle."

"What happened next?"

"Riddle was gaining power from Ginny's use of the diary, the emotion she was pouring into it." She paused again, making the pain turn into electric shocks. "Then Riddle used that power to start attacking those who weren't pure-blood." Hermione could hear herself sounding out of breath, as though she had been running. "He turned a student to stone."

Robert said, "At that point, did you display candor? Did you tell the teachers what you'd done?"

Hermione clamped her lips tightly together. Pain shot through her, to every last nerve ending. "No!" she gasped. "I thought I wouldn't just get in trouble at school, I thought I'd get sent to Azkaban!"

"Even though being candid might have saved this student?"

Hermione bit her lip as pain lanced through her. "Yes. I knew that, and I still kept quiet to save myself. I'm so sorry." The pain notched back again. "Then Riddle turned me to stone, too, and it was too late. At least until Harry figured it out.

Robert said, "After Harry resolved everything, did you tell people what you'd done?"

"No," Hermione said.

"So Ginny took the sole blame for not turning the diary in?"

"Yes." A tear fell from her lower lashes.

"Ah. And when you and Ron became intimate, _then_ did you tell him what you'd done to his sister?"

"No."

"Have you and Ginny become friends, since?"

"Yes," Hermione said. Knowing what he was going to ask next, she forged ahead: "I never told her, either. I've never told anyone this story. Until now."

Unexpectedly, Robert smiled. "And _that_ is the point of this initiation. You might have carried this secret all your life, but now you don't have to, because we," he indicated the people watching, "carry it with you."

Hermione looked at the faces in the dimness. She'd never thought of the Candor initiation that way.

"Thank you for your candor," Robert said.

 _"Thank you for your candor,"_ the crowd echoed.

Robert seemed nicer afterward. He sat with Hermione in a private room while she cried herself out.

"Everyone cries after, don't worry," Robert said.

"Even Dauntless-born?"

"Even Dauntless-born."

"It feels so good to have that secret out in the open." It did, too. She felt like she'd had a deep-tissue massage.

When Hermione was composed, he gave her directions to the cafeteria, where, as she half-expected –

"Hermione!"

"The smartest-ever member of Dauntless! As I live and breathe!"

Fred and George descended on her like the hurricane of fun and goodwill they'd always been. She hugged both of them, and they accompanied her to the cafeteria line.

"How is the food here?" It was becoming a surprisingly important question.

"Pretty good," Fred told her. "Because if something's _not_ good, the cooks hear about it."

"From everybody."

"And they hear what we think is wrong," Fred continued, "and that helps them fix it."

"The secret ingredient is … _honesty_ ," George intoned, like a TV commercial.

Hermione helped herself to a half-serving of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of milk, and followed the twins to a table. After they'd gotten the news from Dauntless, George said, "Your first session went pretty well. We've seen a lot worse."

Hermione almost choked. "You were there?"

"Yeah, because we know you," Fred said. "It's easy to be honest with strangers who don't have a reason to care about your secrets," George added. "Having loved ones there is what makes it hard."

"And meaningful," Fred added.

Hermione took a sip of milk before asking, "So, when I was talking about Tom Riddle's diary -?"

"We both thought that was a shitty thing to do to Ginny," George said.

Hermione blinked at the bluntness of it, then realized, _Well, this is_ _Candor_. _They can't lie to spare my feelings._ On the heels of that thought, she realized something else: he'd said it matter-of-factly. Undoubtedly, he and Fred had told many equally blunt truths to Candor people, and heard them as well. It took the sting out. In all the other factions, you had to screw up your nerve to say, "You did a shitty thing," and then there'd be a long, fraught conversation afterward. Here it was an everyday thing: _You did a shitty thing, we all have at one point or another, let's move on. Spaghetti in the cafeteria today, I hear._

That was really quite nice.

Trying out this new way of thinking and speaking, she asked, "You guys want to hear another secret? One that didn't come up yet?"

Fred shrugged, and George said, "Sure."

"I'm divergent."

"Whoa." That was both of them.

"It's undoubtedly going to come out in the last session," Hermione pointed out. "Robert will say something like, 'Are there any other secrets my questions didn't cover?' and the serum won't let me stay quiet about it."

Fred studied her with great interest. "Then why'd you choose to come here, knowing your secret would come out?"

Hermione searched for an answer that didn't involve lying outright, but didn't reveal her illicit possession of a time-turner. "Being a judge appeals to me," she said. "What would I do in Dauntless? Tinker with the fear landscapes? Administer the aptitude test?"

They both seemed to understand that. Hermione added, "I can't be the first divergent whose secret was revealed in the initiation, can I?"

The twins looked at each other. George said, "We wouldn't know. We haven't seen that many initiations."

An idea began to trouble Hermione. "What if someone _did_ reveal themselves in the initiation, and then a bunch of Candor people knew about it. If directly asked, wouldn't one of those people have to give up the divergent's identity?"

"Yes," Fred told her. "Though if they're not asked outright, they can withhold information. _If_ they feel it's justified."

"And even if they _are_ asked," George added, "a Candor member can say, 'I don't feel that's a fair question, because I don't think divergents are dangerous.' That's better than just giving up a name, although it could bring down some heat on that particular member of Candor."

"Or the whole faction," Fred put in.

Hermione thought about that, winding a strand of spaghetti around her fork. She wondered if Candor was, in fact, hiding divergents from the government, knowing what the cost to them could be. You could call Dauntless the home of brave, but make no mistake, these people had guts.

Then George said, "I bet divergents just don't come here. Everyone knows what the initiation involves, telling all your secrets. Much safer to hide in Amity, or maybe Abnegation."

Food for thought, Hermione realized. Was she putting herself at risk by coming here? To lighten the mood, she said, "Abnegation's food is dreadful."

"When did you eat Abnegation food?" Fred asked.

"Never mind," Hermione said. She could have told them about the time-turner, really. They'd love it. They used to play tricks of all kinds, and now here was Hermione Granger, the straightest of the straight-laced, gaming the whole faction system.

But what difference did it make, telling them? She was about to erase this whole experience.

"Thank you both," Hermione said, as she reached into her pocket. "For understanding about Ginny and the diary."

The twins exchanged a smile. "We're just glad you weren't there for our initiations," Fred said. And George admitted, "We needed five sessions. Each."

"We tied the record."

Hermione was still laughing as she -

 _reset_

 _"Matthew Givens."_

Back in her seat, Hermione stretched a little, still relaxed in body and mind from revealing her secrets and then crying out all the emotion that had entailed. She realized she was a bit hungry – she hadn't eaten terribly much of either her Erudite or Candor meals. That was one reason to go visit Amity – this time, she'd finally stay long enough to finish lunch.

Was there any other reason to go? What on earth would she do in Amity? Hermione Granger, goatherder? False modesty aside, it seemed like a ridiculous occupation for someone who everyone thought belonged in Erudite.

 _"Hermione Granger."_

She rose and went down to the stage, picked up the knife. One more cut on her palm; one more potential future to try out.

"Amity!"


	5. Chapter 5: Amity

**Chapter Five: Amity**

Hermione leaned her head against the window of the train car, hunger fighting with time-travel sickness in the pit of her stomach. She should have paid more attention to Lupin's warning, and eaten enough to settle her stomach while doing all this time-jumping.

To distract herself, she thought about the factions she'd visited thus far. The time to choose was drawing near, and there was still no faction that called out to her without a 'yes, but…' in the back of her mind.

Abnegation was out. Although she wasn't selfish, she wasn't _that_ self-sacrificing. Erudite should have been the obvious choice, but did she really want to live as a divergent, right under the noses of those who hated them most?

Candor? She was surprised how healing she'd found the truth-serum ceremony, but there she would have to reveal her divergent status. That seemed like a risky move, no matter how tough the black-and-whites were.

The train was slowing. Hermione opened her eyes, and drew in a quick breath.

Amity was beautiful.

She'd never been before; a lot of city-bred people hadn't, if they didn't have relatives in Amity. Growing up in the City, and in the Pit, Hermione had imagined Amity's compound as rough and crude. Instead, now she was looking out at rough-timbered, multi-story buildings with walkways in between, fields bristling with thriving, dark-leaved crops, natural grasses bowing before a light wind, orchards heavy with ripe fruit. A shaggy-coated drayhorse pulled a plow through a fallow field, a lean, suntanned girl at the reins.

Hermione stepped out onto the platform, the lone black-clad initiate among a crowd of mostly red and gold. All of them ebbed down the stairs, where a dirt road led to the verdant world ahead.

"Hermione," a male voice said.

She turned and saw a boy only a little older than her, medium height, with red-gold hair in heavy grape-cluster curls to the nape of his neck. He was studying her with warm approval in his hazel-brown eyes, and Hermione's first thought was that she had met him somewhere before.

He offered his hand, which was warm and slightly calloused. "My name is Gabriel," he said. "Welcome to Amity."

"Have we met before?" she asked, giving voice to her thoughts.

Gabriel tipped his head slightly as if considering it. "Not that I know of," he said. "I was just told to look for the only transfer in Dauntless black, and that's you."

They headed down the dirt road, toward the farms. Gabriel had an easy gait, like someone who'd walked in the country all his life.

"I'm the only Dauntless? So where are most of your transfers from?" Hermione asked, then guessed: "Abnegation?"

"Right," he said. "They don't want a radical change in values or lifestyle; they just want a little more color in their lives." Then he looked thoughtful. "Some of them cite the quality of Abnegation's food."

Hermione tried too late to suppress a laugh, and it came out as a snort. Gabriel looked over, but didn't ask what she'd found funny. Hermione said, "The food's pretty good here, then?"

"I think so," he said. "You know we're vegetarian, right?"

Hermione nodded. Erudite's diet had been a surprise, but she'd guessed as much about Amity.

"Anyway," he said, "you can decide for yourself. I waited to eat with you."

"Waited?" It was barely past noon.

"Lunch is early here, because our days start early," Gabriel explained. "But we knew initiates would be coming here without having eaten yet."

They ate in the shade under a copse of trees. There was a spicy vegetable stew, thick-crusted bread, and apple-cherry cider. They were briefly joined with two other recruits, who were there to tell Hermione more about life in Amity – Joely, especially, shared tidbits about how the girls and women lived. Hermione tried to listen, but mostly she found herself watching Gabriel: the unselfconscious way he ate, breaking bread with his hands and using it to soak up stew in his bowl. It wasn't messy; it was a casual grace that Hermione rarely saw, even in Dauntless.

 _Okay, you like this guy,_ said the rational voice Hermione thought of as her Erudite self. _Don't get carried away. You know how unlikely it is you'll choose Amity._

After lunch, Joely moved to sit behind Hermione and began braiding her hair along her temples, shaping it into the characteristic Amity style. It was soothing, reminding Hermione of childhood, her mother doing her hair.

 _Seriously, don't get attached to this place. Who would you be here? Hermione Granger, apple picker?_

So when Joely was done, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "This has been great, but I'm just wondering – when does my initiation start?"

"Initiation?" Gabriel said, and Adam and Joely exchanged looks. He went on, "Hermione, this is Amity. No one's going to stand in judgment over you. You chose us. That's good enough."

"Really?"

"Really."

How could this be? Hermione Granger been raised from birth to prove herself. She'd been taught from childhood that the acquisition of anything worth having must leave bruises, if not scars. How could joining Amity mean anything, if it were so simple?

"Hermione?" Gabriel was saying. It sounded like he was saying it a second time.

"What? Sorry."

"I said, I'll show you around. Are your shoes all right for walking?"

"Oh, they'll be great." She was glad to be talking about something normal again. "Say what you will about Dauntless, they make solid boots. We're on our feet a lot, too."

So they headed off, Gabriel showing her the fields, the covered sheds where delicate seedlings were started, the barns and paddocks for the livestock. He pulled an apple from a tree and sliced it up with a knife, and they fed the slices to a huge chestnut-brown plowhorse.

Finally, they ended up at the springs, Amity's main source of water. The water didn't bubble up in an active way; instead, the surface was like a cool glass mirror, not visibly in motion, yet never still enough to get dirty.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said.

 _What if I_ did _stay here? Sleeping under the stars when it's fair, listening to rain on the roof when it's not, rising with the sun, going to bed at full dark. Planting seeds and watching them grow, harvesting the crop when it's ready. What do the other factions have to offer that compares to this?_

The thought rattled her so badly she stepped back from the springs and looked away. Her eyes, seeking somewhere else but the honest mirror of the water to look, met Gabriel's. He was looking at her again the way he had under the train platform, like he saw something about her no one else did.

"Hermione," he said, "are you divergent?"

 _He's known me for less than two hours_.

"What? No." Then, because it felt wrong to lie to him, "Yes." It came out much more quietly. "How did you know? Were you born Erudite?" She could see no other explanation for the intuitive leap he'd made.

"No, I'm Amity-born," he said. "But you came here from Dauntless, you're obviously smart enough to be Erudite …" He shrugged. "I've always suspected that there are divergents here. They choose life in Amity because it's far from Erudite and the city. It feels safest."

"I don't want to endanger anyone. I'm not blindly seeking protection," Hermione said, quickly.

"I would," he said. "Protect you." As if it were completely natural, he took her hand.

 _This is not happening_. Hermione said what she'd just been thinking: "Gabriel, we just met."

"I know."

"This … there's a serum in the food here, isn't there? That's what this is."

"It's a peace serum, not a love serum," he corrected her, gently. "Why is this so upsetting to you?"

"Because anywhere I go, I'd be a threat to others in my faction. Whatever I decide."

"Decide?" Gabriel repeated, his tone questioning. "Don't you mean, 'decided'? Your choice is made already."

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again, feeling herself on the edge of a precipice.

 _You don't have to do this. This isn't Candor, it's okay to lie here._

But she pulled the time-turner from her jacket and held it out, gleaming in her palm.

"What is that?"

"It's a time-turner," Hermione said, and explained about testing out all the factions. "When I'm ready to go back to the Choosing Ceremony, I twist the knob on top, and I'm back in my seat in the Dauntless section."

"You mean, you might not even come here at all."

"Yes."

"And if you don't, you'll have erased all this? It won't even have happened?"

"Essentially, yes."

His hand tightened on hers. "Hermione—"

"Please," she interrupted. "I can see how this could look like I'm manipulating you and everyone else I've met, but honestly, nobody will remember anything. Except me."

"I don't care. If you go away and don't come back, some part of me would know."

She wanted to say, _That's not possible; that's not how it works._ That was what Gemma would say, or anyone Erudite. Instead, Hermione said, "What would I do in Amity, compared to what I have to offer Erudite, or Candor?"

"Maybe that's looking at it the wrong way," Gabriel said. "Maybe you should be looking at what Amity can offer you."

He stepped slightly closer, and for a moment Hermione thought he was going to kiss her, but he just laid one hand on the side of her face. She laid her hand over his, the one with the four slashes.

 _This is just infatuation. It can't be real, not this quickly. I need to go back, and think about this._

Her other hand closed around the time-turner.

"Gabriel," she said, "I'm sorry, but if I'm touching you, I'll accidentally take you back with me."

He looked like he might speak, but then he stepped back, letting her wrench her hand from his. She just had time to hear him say, "Come back, all right?" before -

 _reset_

 _"Matthew Givens."_


	6. Chapter 6: Choice

**Chapter Six: Choice**

Back in the hall, Hermione took a deep breath, rattled. _I should never have shown him the time-turner! Why did I, why did I?_

And then, _He won't remember anything. I don't have anything to feel guilty about._

She realized her mistake, though. She had, as Lupin had advised, set the time-turner to bring her back to the same moment every trip. But she hadn't gone far enough back in time. Not for this trip, her last. Because now she had to make her decision, and she had only moments in which to do it.

Ron sensed her agitation and again ( _again? not_ _really_ ) took her hand and held it. Hermione looked into his honest, concerned face. Was he the one? Was he enough?

 _"Hermione Granger."_

Hermione looked at Ron and Harry, then rose to her feet, awkwardly like the first time.

On the stage, she picked up the ceremonial knife. She cut her hand one last time, but held her palm rigidly upward, so that the blood pooled and did not fall.

Cross off Abnegation, she thought. But all the rest were still in play. Erudite, a home where she could challenge herself against the best and brightest. Dauntless, a life with Harry and Ron and the friends she'd grown up with. Candor, a life without secrets and lies. Amity, a simple life with a –

A _soulmate_? Did she dare admit that though she loved Ron, that she sometimes felt she'd fallen into a relationship with him because it was easy, almost predestined? But then, Gabriel: Did she dare gamble everything on a two hours' acquaintance?

The time-turner was supposed to make this choice easier. That certainly wasn't the way it felt. For a second, Hermione remember reading that if she could stop time by pulling the knob completely out of the time-turner. Could she close her eyes, pull the pin, and stay forever in this delicious moment of possibility, all futures lying ahead of her? Never having to choose?

No, she wouldn't do that. Everyone else had to make a choice, and so would she.

Hermione extended her arm, turned her palm downward, and let the blood fall.


End file.
